.....If Ellie Schneiderman was considered the art center's omnipresent fairy godmother, then Pat Jones was seen as its wicked stepmother. At least that was how many of the resident artists viewed Jones when she became SFAC executive director in October 1992 and began to shake up the status quo.
Schneiderman had bolted from the post earlier that year. In the seven years since she'd founded the center, she had gained 25 pounds and had developed a three-pack-a-day cigarette habit. Schneiderman now says she was ready "to get back to her life." Gary Feinberg, an artist and the art center's property manager, ran the art center until a new director could be found.
Jones, who grew up in Miami, had served thirteen years as director of the Alliance for the Arts in New York City, a nonprofit service agency affiliated with that city's Department of Cultural Affairs. Jones was chosen to head up SFAC because of her extensive experience with arts organizations and what board president Jan Cheezem calls "an encyclopedic knowledge of contemporary art." Cheezem stresses that it was the artists on the search committee who most strongly supported Jones's candidacy. Jones was brought in on the premise that the SFAC was ripe for change, and that she was the person to impose it.
"The basis for which I was hired was that up to then the organization had focused on developing the [studio] spaces and serving the resident artists," Jones recalls over lunch at a quiet restaurant on lower Ocean Drive, far removed from the clamor of construction crews on Lincoln Road. "And that now with the changing nature of the Road and with a growing organization, they would have to raise outside funds. And if they wanted to raise outside funds, the only way to do that was to really serve the changing nature of South Beach, to serve two other audiences, in terms of programs, exhibitions, and education Athe broader arts community and artists who were not residents of the center."
To accomplish these goals, Jones hired Jenni Person, who had previously worked at the Loft Theater in Tampa, as SFAC program director. Person and artist Roly Chang came up with the idea for Ground Level, an alternative space first located in the 924 building, where Person began organizing poetry slams and other performance events. Meanwhile, Jones sought outside funding and implemented a curated exhibition program that included work by nonresident artists.
At an open SFAC meeting in May 1994, Jones, board members, resident artists, and members of the community met to discuss many of the same issues now on the agenda of the recently formed planning committee. Much of the meeting's transcript contains contentious dialogue: While Person advocates "placement of the organization in the field" through marketing, artist George McClements tersely responds with the comment that artists want to be in their studios selling. Cheezem talks about movie theater negotiations, while ClaySpace director Bonnie Berman cautions against selling the buildings and expresses her suspicions about the city's interests. The only thing all parties seemed to agree on was that they would have to work on better communication.
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No local resident needs to be reminded that Manhattan and Miami are now enjoying the lucrative benefits of their seasonal trade agreement -- tourist dollars for sand dollars. We need only to drive past the lines at Wolfie's and Rascal House, or watch white flesh singe into sunsets on the beach, to acknowledge this annual truth.
But this season Manhattanites have a larger stake in Miami than sunburned-earlobes status used to warrant. Not only have they flown south to avoid the north, their favorite restaurants have migrated as well.
In the past, New York restaurants intent on exploiting the Miami market simply packed up and moved, sacrificing their northern clientele (or perhaps their lack of one). In some cases, such as North Miami Beach's Cafe Chauveron, the success was so immediate and the transition so long ago, most of its patrons believe the restaurant to be as indigenous as stone crabs.
The latest expression of business savvy, however, is to mimic snowbird mentality and maintain dual residences. SoHo's clever I Tre Merli cloned itself in SoBe down to the last lobster ravioli. Barocco Manhattan has its local counterpart in Barocco Beach. Maybe it's the comfort factor: If you frequent the place in New York, you may be more inclined to try its subtropical twin.
I prefer a bit of subtlety. You would never know from appellation, for example, that the owners of the Grove's Brasserie Le Coze are also the proprietors of the Big Apple's Le Bernardin. Unless, of course, you read it somewhere.
The same is true for BANG, cousin of SoHo's BOOM, and newest member of Club South Beach. Both title and menu differ enough from restaurant to restaurant to make them identifiable, but not identical.
For instance, due to part-owner/chef Geoffrey Murray's passion for travel as well as cookery, BOOM's menu features "world" cuisine, while BANG spotlights the "islands" (islands pertaining not only to the Caribbean but to every land mass smaller than a continent and surrounded on all sides by water). It's entirely possible that a sojourn in Sardinia prompted the Sardinian ravioli stuffed with potato, ricotta, and mint, with a tomato and mint sauce ($9.00). That appetizer may be drawn from an island, but how to account for the Vietnamese five-spiced grilled quail ($8.50)? Regardless, it is a beautifully charcoaled combination of delicate poultry and hearty piquancy.
Granted, BOOM, BANG, and CRASH (the latest onomatoapoeic eatery in the series, to be opened in a hot market soon) are about as subtle as a Fourth of July celebration, but it could have been worse. It could have been SNAP, CRACKLE, and POP. Or BOOM could have been the Batmanesque BAM, an anagram of the owners' last initials -- Cesare Bruni, Rocco Ancarola, and the aforementioned Murray. Perhaps they should be congratulated on their restraint.
Indeed a classy restraint characterizes much of BANG, from the small brass wall plaque outside (in lieu of a flashy sign) to Murray's deceptively simple dishes (often the descriptions of entrees sound more overwhelming than they actually are). My grilled blue prawns with a Hawaiian lili koi (passion fruit) basil butter and macadamia nut stir-fried rice ($18.50) translated into three tremendous crustaceans, cooked in the shell like langostinos but thankfully served headless. These were a bit more pungent than a smaller shrimp, a flavor complemented, not diminished, by the strength of the grill. A mound of sweet, fruited rice acccompanied this dish that was so quietly rich I finally believed the claim that shrimp have as much cholesterol as egg yolks.
I also admired the poise of the host, who kept cool during BANG's opening explosion, when patrons hadn't yet realized call-ahead confirmations were in order. Confronted with an obviously reservation-less model and an equally obvious "prince" (who laid his calling card on the hands of beautiful women as if placing them on silver salvers), the maitre d' still honored his prior commitment to us (neither models nor princes, except in our own minds). Of course, fair treatment should be a given. But the encoded crowd that frequents perinatal BANG (a restaurant that, suckling on the reputation of big sis BOOM, sees no need to advertise) allows one to form the occasional misconception.
Or preconception. Because excess, ying to restraint's yang, is also in fashion at BANG. Though Manhattan (an island!) clam chowder ($6.00) and Greek salad ($7.00) contribute to the appetizer selection, the norm tends toward more exotic dishes. Japanese-style spinach and seaweed salad ($6.50), a tender twirl of greenery that would empower Popeye, and Tahitian coconut marinated fresh tuna ($8.50), a rare pleasure of cured tuna, reflect Murray's desire to bring the expansive world to the common table. What can we expect if he ever goes on a safari? Blackened zebra on a bed of fresh meadow greens?
The decor adds to the sensation of superfluity. Nothing has been left undesigned, including the wait staff, who wear traditional kung-fu blouses and brass and sea-glass jewelry (Billy Peacock for Dayne Duvall). The interior of BANG, dubbed "ocean and stars," combines the mysticism of abstract artist Gianfranco Langatta and figurative artist Kaye Mahoney with the earthiness of found-art sculptor Gerd Verschoor. The ceramic dinner plates were designed by local artist Roly Chang; metal cocktail tables and chairs were conceived by Dana Hotchkiss, also a Miami-based artisan. From floor to ceiling, including most of the clientele, BANG is either a work of art or a piece of work.
But perhaps the most self-indulgent and ambitious aspect of BANG is its beverage list. Red and white wines are featured from eleven different countries; beer represents twenty. This United Nations of refreshments would be commendable if they were all in stock. However, on a recent visit, three consecutive selections of beer were unavailable. And rather than asking us for another choice, our waiter would simply gift us with a beer he thought we'd appreciate. Most of the time -- a Presidente for an Amstel Light, for instance -- he wasn't even close.
Still, the juxtaposition of excess and restraint is an ideal one for South Beach, and an attitude that is highly reminiscent of the New York social scene. True, some difficulties have arrived along with the migration of the herd: New York prices have been introduced to South Florida budgets, an irreconcilable discrepancy. Another potential problem is a result of BANG's tasteful nuances: The nameplate that adorns the restaurant's entrance is not visible from the street, and may cause consternation in those seeking the eclectic establishment. But an evening with the Hong Kong-style wok stir fried lobster with a black bean chili sauce ($19.50) and the Puerto Rican chicken adobo with roasted mashed tomatoes, black beans, and rice ($15.00), two outstanding preparations, is more than worth the trouble of locating BANG. This is cuisine sure to convince you that a world (or island) view of food isn't restricted to a single city any more than a restaurant belongs to a specialized crowd. In a couple of months, when the novelty has worn away, natural selection will ensure that BANG, and its talented chef who has done our traveling for us, enjoys continuous cosmopolitan success.
BANG 1518 Washington Ave; 531-2361. Open for dinner nightly from 6:00 to midnight. Bar is open to 4:00 a.m.
I got to see Grrlz during SXSW in 2009 in eary 2009 while in Austin at The Rusty Spurs on 7th Street they we fantastic! Having forgot to sing one of my favorite covers by Janice Joplin they later made it up--where else in the back ally! That encore drew another crowd!
